Arcane & Heady
by Lunarion Silver
Summary: M!Hawke/Anders - Slash - "A toppy, possessive Anders teaches a virgin Hawke all his dirty little tricks." - Essentially full on, smutty goodness. Enjoy.


**Title: **Arcane & Heady

**Fandom**: Dragon Age II

**Pairing:** Hawke/Anders (M/M)

**Warnings**: SPOILERS, NSFW, First-Time, Virgin!Hawke, Possessive!Anders

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. I'm only an obsessive fan.

**A/N**: I don't have a Beta, so I apologise for any typos or nonsensical ramblings.

Originally written for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. Here's the finished (and refined) version. Few things better than a toppy, possessive Anders teaching Hawke all his dirty kinks. Ah, I just love corrupting virgins, especially Scylas. You know, there's something horrible wrong or deliciously right in the world when I can open up a word document and have five pages of smut stare back at me. I still haven't finished the last part (because other ideas have been running away with me) but I'm working on it, slowly. Sorry.

I- ~ ~ ~ -I

He was going to die, from lust or shame, he wasn't sure. Heart racing, throat constricting; he fought to breathe as a rough hand rose to cup his face, thumb idly tracing the contours of his cheek. There was a pulse of magic, arcane and heady, and Hawke struggled to keep upright as chills danced down his spine, desire pooling in his groin as his knees went weak. A breathy moan escaped his throat, and Hawke briefly remembered that breathing was a much needed necessity before that same hand drew him forward, agonizingly slow in its pace. Another pair of lips claimed his, and it was all he could do to wrap a hand around the back of Anders' neck to save from drowning.

This wasn't like the clinic. There it had been all fire and need; a desperate man, both of them, being pushed and pushing back to the brink before the dam had finally given way. It had been an emotional tide, a torrent of unbridled lust and need and want; unforgiving in its demands and never offering Hawke a choice. It had simply _taken_, and Hawke could only submit as it had pulled him under and swallowed him whole. Andraste help him, but he hadn't wanted a choice.

_His back pressed against cool stone - Anders' body flush against his front - pinning him in place as desperate fingers clawed at his neck. Soft whimpers – from him - and the panting of breath as knowing, experienced lips had coaxed his own open, blunt teeth leaving welts along the soft flesh. A gasp of surprise followed, and all he could taste then was Anders, teeth, tongue, and lips branding him; staking claim. _

This, however, was different. It was a slow, steady burn; one that mirrored the intensity in Anders' eyes and barely concealed that uncontrollable passion which dwelled just below the surface. Desire flooded his senses, his being, as another hand came to rest against his hip, curious fingers sliding beneath the soft fabric of his robe to greet the warm, smooth skin beneath. Hawke twitched, then quivered at the touch as Anders drew them closer, pressing clothed erections together for the first time. Hawke's mind went numb as he gasped, Anders swallowing the sound as he tipped Hawke's head back, hand trailing from cheek to neck, before finally coming to rest in the folds of Hawke's hair. There was no rush, no urgency, and for that Hawke was grateful. Just the sure hand of a man he had – dare he say it? – perhaps fallen in love with.

His breathing hitched as the sudden realization of his situation hit him in perfect clarity. A pit formed in his chest and he desperately tried to swallow it down, ignore that sudden and all-encompassing thought of panic and shame. For all the subtle touches and sly innuendo, it had all been mock bravado and nervous humour. He'd been ill prepared for the sheer amount of _need_ that poured off Anders in waves, radiating out and across them both, utterly infectious. He stepped back, pulling air into his lungs and thoughts into his mind as he fought to find the words to explain; to finally find voice for his fears and denied secret.

But Anders had followed, both hands now loosening the ties of his robe as another step was taken, forcing Hawke back and towards the bed. And there it was, that fire, that burning ache behind Anders' eyes; the stare that held every promise Hawke could ever imagine asking and some he didn't even dare to know. Any thoughts of protest or confession died on his lips as he met Anders' gaze, the overwhelming hunger drawing him in, unrepentant in the electric shot of arousal it elicited. Hawke's eyes snapped shut, a groan tearing its way from his throat as knees connected with the edge of the bed. He spiralled down, bare chest exposed, Anders' weight now crushing the life from his prone form. They shift and rough stubble scratches against the crook of Hawke's neck, blunt teeth toying with sensitive skin as straining erections are crushed together.

"Anders…" Hawke hisses, desperation and arousal in equal measure finally giving him the strength of words.

It's only a soft nip, but Hawke all but bucks underneath the man above him, skin crawling with sensation as he feels Anders' lips pull into a knowing smirk against his neck. The action is repeated, and Hawke's head falls with an audible thump against the sheets, jagged nails digging into the back of Anders' neck. A ragged breath, and softly spoken words finally reach Anders' ears.

"I've never…" Is all he manages, but he can feel Anders' smirk widen in response. When warm breath hits his ear, Hawke shudders.

"I know." Blunt teeth sink into the soft flesh of Hawke's earlobe as Anders shifts again, a hand now trailing down the exposed skin of Hawke's chest. It stops above his naval, toying idly in the faint hair there as Anders once again bites a path along his jugular, soothing each one with a sly flick of his tongue as he begins to move his attention to the flat, smooth skin beneath his palm.

"_Ever_." Hawke finally grits out from behind clenched teeth, free hand tangled restlessly in the sheets to his side.

Anders stops cold, face still pressed into the crook of Hawke's neck as he takes in a much needed breath, steadying himself. He groans inwardly as a sickly sort of pleasure courses across his entire body, cock twitching as the realization finally dawns on him. He had known of Hawke's inexperience with men, yes, but this admission had been unexpected, yet undeniably thrilling. Thoughts swim against the back of his mind, and it's all he can do to release a sort of strangled breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He would be Hawke's first, and Maker damn him now; he would be Hawke's _only_.

The laugh that hit his ears was one part bitter and two parts nervous. Anders' thoughts snapped back into focus, head heavy from the intoxicating scent of sweat and musk and all things Hawke. Palpable desire, and a lump balled in his throat as he fought against the urge to simply keep _taking_; to dig teeth and nail into willing skin and force Hawke to squirm beneath him in delicious, agonizing bliss. Disapproval rang through his thoughts, unimpressed by his sudden descent into the realm of depravity; "_corrupting the youth beneath me_". He struggles to swallow, mind drinking in the flood of possibilities as they flash behind his eyes in quick succession, and yet to his surprise he finds the strength to raise his head and meet Hawke's gaze.

It doesn't help. There is anger in that grey stare, mixed with shame but riddled with denied, wanton desire. Anders wets his lips, mouth parched, and arousal causes his skin to crawl and cock to dance as large, dilated pupils follow the movement of his tongue. His own eyes slip down to the thin of Hawke's lips; slightly parted, hot bouts of breath coming in short, quick bursts as he pants, desperate for air. Anders takes pride in knowing it was he who plastered that look across Hawke's face, and he can't stop the image of those lips tasting cock – his cock – for the first time, stretching around-

The moment is lost when he feels large, urgent hands pressed against his chest. Hawke grabs at him, fingers clenched in soft cloth as a war of emotions flit across his face. Despite a majority of blood being settled in his groin, Anders is coherent enough to realize the signs of second thoughts and hesitation in the man beneath him. He opens his mouth, to speak or kiss he isn't sure, but Hawke pushes him aside as he slips off the bed, movements rushed and unsure. Bare feet tread softly along the cool stone floor, and he watches as Hawke runs a shaky hand through his hair, pacing but a stone's throw away.

"This… was a bad idea. You should leave." Hawke's voice is strained, distraught, and the anxiety is obvious in every hitch of breath and stuttered movement.

Hawke doesn't bother to meet Anders' face; he'd rather not see the disappointment, or worse yet, the mockery there. He keeps his back to the man on his bed, arms crossed - in both self-loathing and self-comfort - as the events of the night repeat in the forefront of his mind. He chokes on a laugh, the taste vile and bitter in this throat, his erection and excitement deflating rapidly as he shakes his head in slow, subtle movements. Ever the fool was he, and he realizes in disgust that this has been, by far, the worst idea he's ever followed through on.

It's the soft lilt of his name which brings him back, and Hawke strains to hear it. Head cocked, he turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder when another, breathy moan caresses his ears; voice seductive, a siren's call, and he finds it all but impossible to resist turning just a fraction more. The final sight which graces his eyes drains the blood from his face and the doubts from his mind.

Anders' head rests against the wooden headboard, amber eyes narrow and heavy-lidded as he meets Hawke's gaze. His lips are ajar; the tip of that moist, clever tongue only slightly visible as it runs across his bottom lip, undeniably alluring in it's call. He swallows, slow and deliberate, and Hawke follows the motion with his eyes, fingers twitching idly in their need to touch. His gaze lingers on the pulse of Anders' throat, and he shivers at the sudden flash of cool-heat that coils just below his naval, worming its way up and across his body in slow, rhythmic movements. A small step forward, and Hawke recalls the feel of teeth scrapping along the sensitive skin there, biting down to maim and mark and claim. There's a steady throb against the soft, supple fabric of his trousers, desire reawakened and straining – practically _aching_ – for Anders' knowing, experienced hands.

His eyes slide along Anders' angled neck, and he can't help the famished grin that commandeers his lips as Anders tilts his head, dragging in a rasped, stuttered breath. It exaggerates the tense, smooth lines of his throat, Hawke's eyes tracing the accents as his gaze falls lower. For all the layers Anders wears; hidden buckles and complicated clasps, stitched-leather and furred-feathers, his attire seems oddly simple when unhooked and dishevelled. It hides his pronounced collarbone, now exposed, sharp angles and lean muscle, the dirty-grey shirt he wears beneath clinging to his lank form. Lower still, and Hawke knows Anders is watching him from the corner of his eyes, the firelight reflecting a smug glint as Anders continues the show, tilting his head further yet again as a moan passes from his lungs, echoing against stone walls.

Hawke's gulp is audible, nervous even, as his stare finally travels below a thin waistline. Anders' boots are gone, kicked off in haste and thrown to the wayside; his teal pants had followed suit, both caught in a tangle at the side of the bed. Pale skin covers long legs, ever the faintest trace of dirty blonde hair, spread slightly and bent at the knees, inviting in their posture. His toes curl, crushing the sheets beneath his feet, and an idle hand rests along his naval. His fingers trace the hair there, and Anders smiles, near laughs, as Hawke's eyes follow the motion of his hand. Hawke wets his lips, almost absentmindedly, as his stare finally reaches the source of Anders' longing looks and heavy breaths.

It's all for his viewing pleasure, Hawke realizes. Anders' fingers are wrapped loosely around his cock; slow, patient motions, a thumb sliding against the head, foreskin pulled back with every downward stroke. His erection is thick and hot, cradled in a nest of soft curls, and Hawke knows this isn't the first time Anders has felt that weight against his palm, thoughts of Hawke cascading behind his eyes. Light catches on glistening precum as it's smeared, again and again, with soft, languid touches.

"_In as much detail as you fancy..."_

Hawke isn't sure why he suddenly remembers those words. He's caught, suspended in time as his mind races against the scene playing out before him. Vaguely, he catches the sound of Anders clearing his throat; to find his voice amidst the thick, ethereal haze that chokes the seemingly tiny room, before he's speaking again, tone soft and warm.

"Trust me." There's love in his voice now, overpowering the lust in his eyes and needy tension of his body. His free hand rises, beckoning Hawke forward with small, fluid gestures.

The air is damp with magic and it prickles along Hawke's skin in unseen arcs, oddly pleasurable in sensation; the raw power of Anders washing over him, an almost electric, metallic tang not unlike the Fade. He feels it press against his back, urging him on with subtle waves as his hair stands on end. It crackles in the air and he breathes deep; smell reminding him of the calm before a storm – a raging tempest, a destructive force. Inescapable.

And Anders, wise – or perhaps sly - as he is, finally has an epiphany click into place.

"Come here, _boy_." He purrs it out, voice firm and demanding as his eyes lock with Hawke's, the recollection of their first encounter summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Mesmerized, enthralled; a starving man to a banquet, Hawke shuffles forward on unbalanced legs, hesitation finally subdued into place. Anders can't help but shudder, straining as he grips the base of his cock as Hawke obeys, crawling his way across the bed, eyes shifting between Anders' intense stare and the twitching, leaking prick between his legs.

His palms slide against Hawke's shoulders; thin, clever fingers slipping beneath fabric as they push aside the offending robe. It falls free with ease, red silk gliding down the arch of Hawke's back as he leans forward, worried lips brushing against Anders' inner thigh, slow and cautious. A familiar heat courses through his veins, and he hisses Hawke's name, teeth grinding as a warm, moist breath teases the tip of his shaft. He near thrashes then, head heavy as it cracks against the headboard when rough, foreign fingers wrap around the base of his cock, curious yet more than willing.

_Three years of restless nights; of finding shallow comfort in the palm of his own hand as impossible thoughts drifted behind tired eyes. Hushed, guttural groans as he tried so desperately to push aside his obsession as it slowly consumed him; devoured him with every subtle glance those grey eyes shot his way, torturous in their unsure, yet longing looks. Strangled breaths as underlying disapproval rang in his ears time and time again before submitting to the inevitable, joining him in obsession as the mantra of Hawke's name poured from his lips in reverence. Blasphemous but ever so __**right**__. Unabashed desire was finally taking hold in the realm of reality._

Anders can only watch from between slit eyes as a tentative tongue snakes out from behind Hawke's teeth, taking it's first taste of the clear, salty fluid that clings to the tip. All thought ceases then, and a pleased smile creeps it's way across Hawke's lips, clever, quick-witted tongue flicking along the head with small, feathery touches.

"Let me know how I do." Hawke breathes out, grey eyes near black as lust overrides virginal trepidation. And yet behind the nerves and the want and the need, there's that familiar, know-it-all tone and sarcastic smirk Anders has come to love.

His groan is choked, his throat constricts, breathing his only focus as inexperienced lips finally engulf the head of his prick. One of his hands finds its way into tangles of chocolate brown hair, his grip almost painful, riding out a violent storm - a raging hurricane of sensation. His other hand claws at Hawke's back, nails leaving crescent shaped welts in soft skin as Anders forces his hips to steady, denying the urge to thrust; fulfil wicked fantasies and haunted desires. A rough thumb slides up and along the underside of his dick, a furnace – no – an inferno of a mouth milking strangled breaths and rasped moans of ecstasy from his lungs.

It doesn't matter that it's sloppy, unpractised technique and skill yet to be honed. And Maker, Anders shudders at that; the thought of Hawke learning every subtle twitch of his body, ever pleasured noise that echoes from his lips. He'd teach his young lover everything he knew; how to pleasure him with every dirty trick and magical twitch of power, frosted fingers and static shocks, a soft scratch of teeth and nails dragged along sensitive skin. His mind blanks as Hawke sinks a little lower, lips stretching around the girth of Anders' shaft, tongue toying under the head with long, feverish strokes.

Hawke's hand begins to move, rough palm meeting his lips in short, quick motions. Anders' head lolls to the side, features contorting in pleasure, losing the battle for his eyes to stay open, to watch as Hawke takes him deeper, longer licks of his tongue working the throbbing vein. Anders all but growls as Hawke's head begins to move, bobbing in time with his hand. He pulls up and off, catching his breath, running the flat of his tongue across the head in one smooth, languid lick. A shiver shoots down Anders' spine, electric as it sparks across his body. He tenses, whispers a breathy warning to Hawke that he doesn't seem to heed.

And then there's another hand, gentle as it cups his balls; rolling them as it explores just a little further back. They touch that sensitive expanse of skin, between ass and tensing sack, and Anders bucks up, willing mouth lowering back down, wrapping around a spazzing, pulsing head as Anders' orgasm rocks through him, the foundation of his core breaking from within.

His eyes slam shut and his back arches. He feels Hawke swallow around the head, drinking down salty white strings as pulse after pulse crashes through him. He can hear Hawke's name on his lips, his voice hallow and rough, alien to his own ears as he howls it out, again and again; a never ending litany for the man he loves. Finally the last crash pummels through him, hips stilling as he opens his eyes.

Hawke stares up at him, a proud smile forming against flushed cheeks and plumped lips as he pulls away from Anders' softening cock. It's an image to behold; the lust in Hawke's eyes and the faintest traces of white along his lips. Surprise then; shock in wide, grey eyes as Anders shifts, momentum tumbling them over as another shot of desire dances across Anders skin, shooting through his veins as it circulates through his already recovering body.

Grey Warden stamina, indeed.

Hawke's head crashes against the foot of the bed as Anders straddles his waist. He grinds his hips into Hawke's untouched erection before leaning down, attacking his lover's lips near manically as he licks away the remaining traces of his release. Hawke's mouth is pliable beneath him, opening up under Anders' ministrations with unsung need. He nips at Hawke's lips, raising soft skin before a knowing tongue demands its way inside, tasting salt and copper - the tang of his seed - in the depths of the kiss.


End file.
